


Knight-Errant

by DustToDust



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Timothy Drake is not a princess, but that does not stop him from being kidnapped by a dragon and rescued by a knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from kaitouhime is exactly what the summary describes pretty much.

Tim never expected to be saved.

It just wasn't statistically likely given all of the handicaps he was saddled with. First was the fact that the Drake kingdom was small, and more rich in history than it was with gold and gems. There wasn't much of worth to be offered up in ransom to the dragon that caught Tim, and Tim knew his parents too well to hope otherwise. King Drake would try once someone managed to drag him out of his research room where he planned fact finding missions only he and other scholars cared about. Queen Drake wouldn't allow it though. The attempt would leave their little kingdom destitute and she was too fair a ruler to allow that even when it is her own son at risk.

He loves his parents, Tim really does, he just doesn't expect them to outright buy him back.

The chance of them offering up a reward for his rescue is more likely anyway. Even if it is just as statistically unlikely to be followed through on. The reward will have to be small to not break the treasury which will limit the pool of rescuers. It will exclude all those with a lot of experience, and deter those who have to travel long distances. They can't even offer up a marriage in return, or a title to sweeten the deal. Tim is an only child, and he is very much a prince despite what some of his peers may tease him on.

That leaves Tim with one option, he's going to have to rescue himself.

It's a possibility that has come up reluctantly as the days pass by, and Tim considers all of his limited options. The cave in the mountains is in the middle of a sheer cliff face that makes Tim dizzy to peer down. The expansive maze of tunnels inside is vast, but reveals very little Tim can use. There's rock, which doesn't hold up very well against other rocks let alone the metallic hide of a dragon. There's treasure everywhere, but anything even vaguely weapon like is either rusted to uselessness or purely ornamental.

The gold coins might be useful given their weight, but using them --bundled in a sack of silk like a cudgel-- would require more strength and stealth than Tim has to bludgeon the dragon to death without being fried to a crisp first.

It's discouraging to say the least. Tim has carefully picked through the treasury, gathering up what little appears to be useful, but most of it will only do him any good _after_ the dragon is dead. Something that Tim is going to have to figure out how to accomplish fast.

It's been nearly six months now with no word or sign of rescue. Eventually, the dragon is going to get tired of feeding Tim and waiting for the ransom that isn't coming. Tim will either be killed then, or left to wander the caves and starve.

Tim's counting time as the dragon goes to hunt food for them both, carefully cutting and tying bolts of silk into a rope he isn't really sure will hold, when he hears a foreign sound at the mouth to the cave. It's a shuffling sound that makes him pause and listen closely. 

The entire time he's been captive he's only seen the dragon and the dead animals it brings back with it. No other creature has tried to enter it's lair, rightfully wary of a place that smells so strongly of fire and brimstone.

It's not a guarantee though. Tim knows there are creatures out there who can and will challenge a dragon. That there are those that will wait for it to leave before invading it's lair. None of them are any better than the dragon in the terms of Tim living to his next birthday.

Tim swallows hard and picks up the sturdy wooden haft he pried out of a ridiculously ornate pole-axe. It's smooth and comforting in his hands, but Tim doubts the wood will hold very well against much even as he creeps towards the entrance on feet as silent as he can make them be.

He's thinking about griffins and naga as he edges closer to the source of the noise. Trying to remember what he knows about their anatomies from his father's library when a sharp cry rips through the caves. Tim freezes in shock as someone starts cursing. Fluidly and inventively, and unmistakably human.

"Hello?" Tim calls out, and then immediately bites his lips because that was stupid. What kind of person sneaks into a dragon's cave when it's gone except for thieves looking to steal while they have a chance? How likely was he to find one sympathetic to him over one who would happily slit his throat?

The voice, when it calls out, is unexpected. Both for it's youth and its words, "Prince Drake? Are you unharmed?"

A rescue! Tim's heart nearly jumps out of his chest and he almost runs the remaining distance. Disbelieving that his predictions were false. That someone _has_ taken the reward to rescue him, and that they seem to have some intelligence if not skill. Waiting for the dragon to be away before entering the cave.

"Yes! Yes, I am," Tim nearly trips as he takes the last bend in the cavern and plows straight into the cold armored chest of his rescuer. The staff clatters to the ground as they both reel from the force of the collision.

"Whoa! Easy, you're safe now," his rescuer says with a laugh as he manages to keep them both upright and not send them sprawling on the ground.

"The dragon-" Tim starts to say, panicked because it's been a very long time, and the dragon is bound to be on its way back. He doesn't finish his sentence though, because when he pulls away he's faced with a set of colors he'd never thought to have the chance to see for himself up close. 

His rescuer is dressed in red, green, and gold. A bright mash of colors that belong only to one group of individuals in all the lands. The knight-errants of King Wayne in Gotham. A group of knights who wander the lands to save any who require it regardless of their circumstances or the reward. Tim has heard many stories of them all, and their dark mentor who never leaves his King's side. The knights are nameless, going by monikers and hiding their identities behind strips of silk that match their colors. All the better to allow them to right the wrongs they find in the world without fear of personal retaliation.

The shield slung over his rescuer's arm bears a stylized, golden R on a dark background that shows the hint of the shape of a bat. His rescuer is a Robin. The training class of the knight-errants, true, but they have always been rumored to be more skilled than five knights form any other kingdom.

"The dragon's dead," the Robin says with a smile, and Tim notices that he is battered. A fresh scrape with blood beading up marring his cheek and stopping just before the green silk cloth that covers his upper face. Black hair flops messily over it, and green eyes peer down at him. Flickering over him, checking for injuries no doubt as Tim just stares up at him. Unable to even form words as he's confronted with a person who belongs to a group of knights he has idolized for so long. "I took care of it before coming down here to check on you."

"Oh," Tim blinks and feels rather stupid as he realizes the Robin is still holding him. Gauntlet covered hands resting against his sides as Tim just stares. Tim feels his face heat up as he steps back and away from the man who sounds to be not much older than himself even though he is taller. "Thank you. I, I'm sorry that I wasn't more careful."

"Think nothing of it, Your Royal Highness," the Robin snatches Tim's right hand, sweeping into a courtly bow over it, and Tim's face goes an even brighter red as he feels lips brush lightly over his fingertips. It's a cheeky gesture more acceptably given to a princess, and Tim should rightly feel angered over it. He can't though. Not with those green eyes smiling warmly up at him.

"You are injured though," Tim takes his hand back when it's released and steps back again. Putting some space between them and doing his best to ignore the heat that must be visible in his cheeks. "On my account. We should tend to that before leaving."

"As you wish, my Prince," the Robin says, and while the words are courtly the tone is verging on scandalous. "I am yours to command."

Tim doubts that. The knight-errants who carry the mark of the Dark Knight only answer to him first, and King Wayne next. He can't deny the way his heart skips a beat though as he leads the Robin back into the parts of the cavern he's colonized. To the small stash of usable goods that include fresh water, and a few dried herbs that should still be good enough to at least tend the knight's minor wounds.

It is the best outcome he could hope for, even if the odds of it happening were so small Tim had never considered it a possibility before. After all, Gotham's knights were so very few and the injustice in the land was so very large. Tim smiles a little in the dimness of the cave. He never expected to be saved, but he does expect that the trip back home in the company of his rescuer is going to be very eventful.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason's ten years old when he falls in love.

The winter has been harsh, and his father hasn't returned from the heist that he swore would be his last. One last jaunt to break the laws that was a favor to a friend and would get them enough money to last through to the next winter.

Jason watches as his mother's brittle smile gets more forced as the snow piles up, covering the gray stone of Gotham and his father doesn't return. As the food cupboard grows leaner and the hidden stash of coin under her bed dwindles to dust. The other tenants in the building don't look at them, and avoid his mother outright when she wraps herself in as many layers as she can and makes him promise to mind their rooms for an hour or two while she goes to find them food.

His father does not return, and sometimes Jason's mother is gone all night. She does not always return with food, and --as winter drags on-- she rarely returns with her senses intact.

Jason grows used to being hungry and learns not to mind their rooms. Not if he wants to ease his hunger. He learns instead how to slip out into Gotham's cold streets. To follow the snow covered lanes to the ways that are filled with the dark sludge of hundreds of feet. Where people gather to walk and push and go about their lives. Jason slips in among them and learns how best to get a hand between their layers and on their purses.

It's not an easy feat in winter, but Jason manages well enough to buy himself one hot meal a day. In the cold of winter that cuts through his too thin layers, it's almost a godsend.

Jason's wandering the market streets and looking for his next meal when he gets caught for the first time. It's a stupid move, a mistake he wouldn't have made if he wasn't so damn hungry. He goes for a fat man's purse. Some greedy merchant type who surely won't miss a few coins.

Jason knows better than that though. He knows that the fat and greedy are the ones most likely to keep their hands close to their purses. Jason nips the purse strings easily enough and is melting back into the crowd, but he doesn't get very far before the man's bellowing. Loud curses that fill the air and get the wrong sort of attention too fast for Jason to get away cleanly.

He's grabbed by hard hands and hauled back to the fat man who's going red in the face. His beady eyes gleaming as Jason's held viciously still by the two _bodyguards_ he somehow missed out on seeing. The purse he snatched is tossed to the ground at the man's feet.

"Is this how I am to be treated in these lands?" The fat man speaks with an accent that is overly dramatic and thick. His beady eyes bulging as he only gets louder. "To be stolen from in the middle of day by this _filth_?" 

Spittle flies out of his mouth and Jason flinches in disgust as it lands on his face. The hands holding him still grow tighter, bringing a reluctant cry of pain out of him as he tries to twist away. Not caring so much for the way the man's rage twists him into a terrible piggish visage. Hungry and mean.

"Do you know what is done to thieves in my home boy?" The pig continues to emote, clearly enjoying the attention he's garnered as he slowly draws out a wicked looking curved dagger. Tiny grooves cut into it like Jason has seen at the butchers, the better for chopping through hard bone. The man's smile is mean and wet looking as he caresses the blade. "We take their hands in repayment."

"No! Let me go!" Jason fights then. Kicking and biting as the guards pull one of his arms out straight in front of him. They barely even react at all, and a mutter goes up in the gathered crowd but no one steps forward. No one tries to single themselves out to help a pickpocket.

A meaty hand grabs his outstretched one and Jason can't break free at all. He kicks but only hits air and ground, and the dagger gleams wickedly bright in the winter light as he stares at it. Too sick and scared to look into the delighted gaze of the man drawing out this disturbed punishment.

"Stop!" The cry is small and lost in the crowd, only heard by Jason because he is hoping for it. It makes his heart sink because that one voice is too little against the apathy of the crowd. "Stop him!"

"Enough," a stern faced man says. His voice accented, but not as strongly as the fat man's. His gauntlet covered grip on the threatening hand goes tighter and the merchant cries out as the dagger falls. Jason staggers as he's released on all sides. Two other men holding back the bodyguards. Jason blinks at them stupidly before soft hands are pulling him back up.

It's a boy, younger than Jason and dressed in clothes finer than even the merchant is wearing. His face is round and soft with baby fat, amplifying the worried blue eyes that look up at him. Flickering as he checks for any harm. Nobility of some kind written all over him and Jason ducks his head automatically in an awkward sort of bow.

"This is an outrage!" The merchant roars. Face going purple in rage as he's forced onto his knees by the stern man who has the bearing and gear of a knight. A thick cape obscuring his colors and emblem. "Release me at once!"

"His Royal Highness bids you to remember you are a guest in this kingdom as much as he, and taking the law into your own hands is not something that should be done," the knight intones in a very bored voice. It's obvious that he's not putting much effort into subduing the merchant at all, and titters start up in the back of the crowd watching the spectacle avidly. "This is not your home, and thieves are dealt with differently here."

Jason swallows at the grand title carelessly thrown out by the knight, and darts a look at the boy who seems more concerned with Jason than anyone else.

"Are you alright?" The boy asks with a smile. His voice low so that only Jason can hear it, and even then he has to lean in close. The boy does not seem to mind when Jason nods. His blue eyes flash and Jason feels something pushed into his hands, the silky purse he had originally snatched. The boy nods once and pushes Jason sharply. "Then run, they'll not notice you missing until it is too late. I will make sure of that."

Jason does not hesitate. He melts into the crowd, purse clenched tight and heart racing hard as he _runs_. Hard and fast. Not stopping until he's safely behind the doors of the rooms he might still share with his mother.

The boy is a noble, a foreign one, and Jason doesn't know how the titles work but in Gotham that address the knight used is reserved for the Crown Prince Richard and no one else. Not any of the other nobles that flock to the King's court with all of their unpronounceable names and long lists of titles.

Jason was just saved by a prince. A prince who saved him from being mutilated, and gave him the money he failed to steal. More. Jason blinks dumbly as he realizes the purse is much heavier than it was before. It's filled with copper coins from the South that are light and spend far too cheaply, and in the space that was empty before are glittering gold coins that Jason has not seen before. The currency as foreign to him as the precious gold that makes it.

He sits on his bed of blankets and stares at the small treasure that will last him much longer than winter. Remembering soft hands, concerned eyes, and a low voice that promised to cover for him.

Jason Todd falls in love for the first time in his life with a nameless prince from a foreign land, and he does not know what to do about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Robin’s wounds are light. The scrape along his cheek is the worst, and it awes Tim that the man isn't worse than he is for taking on a dragon alone. It’s not a feat to be taken lightly. Dragons are dangerous no matter what color their scales and even the laziest ones will put up a fierce fight, and Tim's all too aware of how cunning the one that kidnapped him was.

Cleaning up his rescuer’s wounds is a simple task that should take mere seconds even with all of the care he’s taking to clean it to the exacting standards of the physicians that came to avail themselves of his father’s library. It takes longer though under the intense gaze of Robin who obediently holds still for Tim, but won’t look away from him. Smile not fading in the slightest even as some of the herbs have to sting his cheek.

"I had not thought I would be rescued," Tim starts to talk to fill the silence. A distraction from the knight’s gaze as he carefully ensures the scrape will not fester. A possibility given that it might have been inflicted by the dragon, an unclean creature that has a remarkable ability to promote the festering of wounds it causes. "It has been so long that I was working on a way to climb down myself while the dragon was away."

"News traveled slow," Robin’s smile dims, and his eyes narrow behind the mask. Tim’s not entirely sure what that expression is. A frown, distaste, frustration. It could be any of them, but Tim knows that it all means the same thing. There was no reward posted for his return, or it was so low it barely merited repeating even as a rumor. It stabs at his heart and his hands still in their task. Robin reaches up to touch the hand holding the wet rag to his face. Impossibly gentle in the gauntlets. "I would have been here sooner if I could have been."

"Thank you," Tim swallows and blinks twice, pushing away the pain with practice. He focuses on finishing his task as quickly as possible instead. Things must be much worse than his mother let on in her talks with him about the future of the kingdom. A weekly talk that'd been growing more frustrated over the last season as money continued to dry up and politics began to spiral out of control around her usual iron grip. "It is fine though. Things have been difficult in my kingdom for a while now, our coffers are nearly empty, and the people have suffered through a drought. They do not deserve an increased taxation on my account."

Robin’s lips thin but his hand drops and he let’s Tim finish his task. Not protesting when Tim uses a paste to seal the scratch with a patch of red silk that matches his colors.

"You know how to use that, Prince?" Robin asks when he’s done, nodding at the sturdy wood staff he had made sure to pick back up.

"I do," Tim says as he carefully rolls the remaining herbs up in more red silk to tuck away. He smiles a little wryly at the knight. "Wood does little good against dragon scales though, so I am afraid my options were very limited."

"It's good that you did not try," Robin frowns and works his jaw slightly. Testing out the limits of the bandage before climbing to his feet. Tim notices that the armor, as heavy as it looks, doesn't make much noise at all and bends far more than any other metal suit he's seen before. It's fascinating and Tim's hands twitch slightly with the sudden curiosity he feels to examine it. "I would hate to have to come all this way only to find my Prince roasted."

Tim fumbles picking up the staff. That's the second time Robin has referred to Tim such a manner, and it's getting hard to not read into it too deeply. Not with the way his green eyes follow Tim so closely, or the way he lingers close after helping Tim to his feet. Not letting go until Tim moves away and towards the entrance again.

There's nothing that Tim can see when they get there. No rope or ladder to show how the knight got in. Tim looks down with trepidation. "Do you have a rope?"

"I have _something_ ," Robin grins and pulls a strange device from a holster on his back. There's rope on a spool with a hook attached somehow. Tim stares at it blankly wondering as Robin leans perilously out of the entrance and aims it upward. There's a loud pop that nearly makes Tim jump and the hook shoots up at a fast rate of speed that Tim can't follow. Robin tugs hard on it. Lifting himself up and swinging out into the open in a way that makes Tim's heart stutter. The rope holds and Robin swings back into the cave, holding one arm out to Tim as he balances on the edge of the entrance. Heels dangling over the open air. "You ready to fly Your Highness?"

"What?" The man is _insane_. Tim finds himself edging out towards him anyway, taking the hand offered to him. "That rope is not long enough to go to the bottom."

Robin _grins_ and closes his hand around Tim's, pulling lightly to encourage him to move. "No, we are going _up_."

"Up!?" Tim yelps as he's pulled in against Robin's chest, sending them both swinging out into the open air. Tim gasps and clings hard to the man who _laughs_ as they swing wide. The ground a dizzying blur below his feet that Tim can't tear his eyes away. "How?!"

Robin's arm tightens just before they jerk, and then they're _flying_. Shooting up fast and Tim barley manages to turn his head to look before they're almost on the lip of the cliff, and Robin is moving. Curling up around Tim in a way that forces him to move with the man as they hit the ground. Rolling twice and coming to a stop with Tim sprawled out on top of Robin.

"You alright?" Robin asks, a little laugh still in his voice as the device clanks in his hand. The spool trying to spin even now with the rope pulled tight, until Robin flicks a switch and it goes slack. His other arm is still wrapped around Tim, and Tim's got both of his hands hooked in under his breastplate. His fingers white knuckled as he tries to rearrange his internal organs, and decide if the world is done moving under him or not.

"No," Tim eventually says and scowls when that only makes Robin laugh. He forces himself to let go and roll off the knight. The armor might be surprisingly quiet and flexible, but it certainly isn't comfortable. His fingers tingle as the blood starts flowing though them again and Tim shares his scowl with the knight as he sits up. "What _is_ that?"

"A grapple," Robin rolls to his feet easily and works on unhooking the thing from the tree it embedded itself into. "It is useful when rescuing Princes from dragon caves among other things."

Tim watches fascinated and unable to keep up his scowl as Robin winds the grapple back up. There are a few attachments built on it. Metal cylinders and the hint of finely wrought gears before the hook snaps back into place and hides them. "But how does it work?"

Robin looks over at him after placing the grapple away and this grin is a bit teasing. "So curious, Highness, if I shared all of my secrets with you now, what would I have to tell you on our journey back?"

"I am sure you could find something," Tim says, because he doesn't doubt that Robin has enough stories to tell to last an entire year. The nature of his order's mission wouldn't allow any less. "The life of a knight-errant could not be so lacking for tales."

"You would be surprised, Highness," Robin moves fast as Tim starts to get up. Getting a hand under one of Tim's arms to give him help he really doesn't need. "If you would not mind the boring stories though, I think I can fill the time to your liking."

"I think I would like that," Tim agrees and follows without protest. Eying the hand that doesn't leave his arm and allowing it to stay there for the moment. To assure himself that his knees won't give way from that flight, not because it makes something warm in his chest and his stomach flutter.


	4. Chapter 4

The Dark Knight is a legend spoken of in whispers on the streets. His name spoken in awe, anger, reverence, and hate in equal measures. The sworn knight of the King casts a broad shadow over the kingdom. A nameless, faceless man dedicated to nothing more than upholding the laws and bringing those that break them to justice. Some call him a golem, others a demon. Few ever call him human. Not him and not the other knights he mentored in his ways, starting a tradition that has more weight outside of the kingdom than it.

Jason's not thinking about the Dark Knight or his legacy at all the night he steals the man's horse.

The horse isn't even tied down, just left lurking in the shadows of an alley, and Jason would never have seen it if it hadn't snorted just as he was passing it. It's hide is pitch black, and the tackle it wears is dyed the same color. Even the metal is black, goblin iron so dark it seems to suck in the faint light around it. All of it brushed down so that there isn't so much as a hint of a shine to any of it.

Jason's never seen one before, but he's sure that this is a war horse. It's built up bigger than even the farm raised cart horses that he sees occasionally in the market. It stands there, completely still even as Jason cautiously makes his way over to it. Dark eyes regarding him almost haughtily. No flinching or even nervous shake to give away that it finds him threatening. It snorts again when he puts a hand out, and Jason freezes as it tosses it's head.

He clicks his tongue twice and curls his fingers the way he's seen stable hands do. It's a very specific curl that he's seen them all do, no matter where they work, and the horse seems to settle. Head going down to sniff his hand. Jason eases his other hand in the bridle and clicks his tongue again as he pulls. He makes no move for the reigns, and keeps his hands where a stable boy would. The horse goes along with him docilely, and Jason grins as he walks it away from the alley he found it in.

He's not sure what he's going to do with the horse. It's a war horse, it won't tolerate any rider but the one its been trained to carry. The horses usually die with their rider, because the only other use they have is as breeding stock. The gear on it is another matter entirely. Goblin iron is a costly bit of material. The purer and darker it is, the more it's worth. The tackle won't fetch as much, the leather work too distinctive to sell as a whole piece, but Jason's fairly sure he can get something for selling it off piece by piece.

Any little bit helps now that Jason's alone and doesn't have his mother's occasional help to rely on. The loss still burns even though he's known it was coming for a while now. Her eyes getting more distant and foggy, the times she spent asleep getting longer and longer. Her death had been a long time in coming, but Jason still doesn't have to like it.

Jason leads the horse into an empty courtyard of a silk merchant's warehouse. The guard hired to watch the goods is a drunkard more likely to be sleeping it off than watching anything. It stops obediently at another gesture and Jason gets to work taking off the tackle. Grunting under the considerable weight of the saddle as he hoists it over his shoulder. There's bags hanging from it too, but Jason doesn't look through them just yet as he slides the saddle blanket off as well. It won't fetch much but winter is coming soon and Jason always needs more layers.

The horse doesn't move when he leaves it in the courtyard, and Jason wonders if it might be worth it to try and sell it to the butchers if it's still there in the morning. They'd pay less if they had to kill it themselves though, and Jason doesn't think he's quite up to killing a horse that's probably trained to crush the heads of anyone trying to harm it though.

Jason puts the horse out of his mind and focuses on getting the gear back to his rooms. The same ones he lived in for so long, and that he is now considering giving up. It's not worth the cost to have them when it's just himself paying for the rent now. There are smaller, cheaper options that would help Jason stretch his money more. Also, the possibility of a being on the ground floor, and attractive option as he lugs the heavy saddle and bags up three flights of stairs.

The gear clatters to the ground and Jason starts to inspect it after lighting a stub of a candle. It looks finer in the light, and Jason ups the estimate of what he can get even for the saddle. The first bag he inspects is filled with provisions, and Jason immediately tears into a crusty round loaf as he sorts the food around. Most of it will keep, but there's some that he's going to have to eat soon. Not a hardship for Jason, his stomach feels like it's been growing lately and he can never seem to get enough to fill it.

Jason's opening the second bag --mouth filled with bread-- when a breeze fills the room. Jason swallows the lump of unchewed bread in his mouth before turning, because he doesn't leave the widow open when he's not in. He wasn't thinking about the Dark Knight earlier, but as the darkly armored man seems to fill the entire room he suddenly is.

The knight is covered by a thick leather cloak that's been brushed down just like the saddle he's sitting on, and the helmet that obscures the top half of his face is the darkest of goblin iron. The slits where eyes should be overshadowed giving him a demonic look that's only enhanced by the animalistic ornamentation of the helmet and the expressionless flat line of his mouth.

Jason, he can admit this freely to himself, is an idiot. Anger bubbles up in him as he realizes that this is probably the last thing he's ever going to do before spending the rest of his life working on a chain gang in a rock quarry. It's not really fair. Jason reaches back into the saddle bag and pulls out the sausage he'd been planning on saving for later. He takes a vicious bite out of it and glares defiantly at the silent knight. 

~

Yesterday, Jason woke up on a pallet of blankets that weren't too clean or soft. He was hungry and sore from a fight he almost didn't win the night before. His shoes didn't fit right, and his shirt was starting to fall apart on him despite his best attempts to keep it from unraveling with a bit of bone whittled into a needle and the thread he'd pulled off a blanket. He hadn't known where or when he was going to eat, or how much pain it was going to cost him to get that meal.

Today, Jason wakes up on a mattress filled with straw and covered by a pallet stuffed with feathers. Two blankets over him to keep him warm through the night, and a brocade pillow to rest his head on. It's all clean and softer than anything he's ever felt before. He's hungry but there's a tray on the small table at the foot of the bed wit food already on it. Slight curls of steam come up off it, and Jason's stomach overrides his gut instinct that recoils at the thought of someone being able to enter the room without waking him. There's enough food there to stop the pangs of an empty stomach for the first time in a good long while.

There's a set of soft shoes that fit him perfectly, but Jason doesn't really like them. They're too soft and will tear the second he tries to run, but he supposes it's better than going around barefooted. The shirt laid out for him also fits and feels every bit as soft as the shoes do, and it's colorful in a way that Jason's only ever seen on really rich merchants and nobles before. He feels like a fool pulling it on, but would feel even worse trying to go out without one. His own clothes were stripped from him the night before when he was all but dumped into a metal tub of water and scrubbed till his skin stung by an older man who kept insisting on referring to him as 'Lord.'

Jason still doesn't know where or when his next meal is going to be, or how much pain he's going to go through to get it. It makes Jason wonder, as he stands in a single room that's larger than the two he used to have put together, if he might not have been better off fighting harder when the Dark Knight decided to haul him back to the castle the night before.

A knock at the door jolts Jason out of his thoughts and he turns even as the door is already opening. Letting in a tall man with long, dark hair and a smile that looks ready to swallow his face whole. "Good morning, Jason!" The man's voice is cheerful and rounded with an accent that isn't local. He's wearing fine clothing and moves with the type of grace that Jason associates with street performers as he circles around Jason once. Blue eyes sharp as he studies him critically. "A little rough but you should do just well."

Alarm flares up in him and Jason feels his fists curl up tight as he growls. "Do well for what?" The Dark Knight had not been very communicative when he took Jason with him the night before, and Jason --as angry as he'd been-- hadn't felt like prodding the man for answers. He'd simply followed along and determined to take whatever was being handed to him when he wasn't immediately escorted immediately to the dungeons.

Maybe he should've fought harder and asked some questions then, because Jason's heard rumors about what the rich and mighty tend to do to the poor people they scoop up off the streets. Not all of those rumors end very happily.

"My birthday present," the man says and doesn't seem to even notice when Jason goes very, very still. He's picking at the covers on the bed and looking around at the mostly empty room thoughtfully. "I have always wanted a little brother, but Bruce always said I could not have one. Something about not wanting to encourage a civil war for the crown when he eventually dies."

"The _King_?" Jason repeats and then _gapes_ at the man on the bed. At the _prince_ smiling at him and implying- "What do you mean brother?"

"He did not tell you anything at all, did he?" The prince says with a smile that turns wry and knowing. "I am not surprised in the least, he tends to do that a lot despite what we all try to tell him."

"Yeah, alright," Jason doesn't move but he's very aware of the door behind his back as he tries to remember the proper address for the man before him. The words trip awkwardly off his tongue, "Can you explain why I am to be anyone's brother, Your Royal Highness?"

"Richard, or Dick," the prince says immediately and with the kind of casual dismissal that would get anyone on the streets beat if they copied it. "Since you are to be my brother, titles will not be needed between us. Not once Bruce is done declaring you as his second son. He was quite impressed with you last night," the prince, Richard, Dick's eyes gleam with suppressed laughter. "No one has had the gall to actually steal his _horse_ before."

His horse? _His_ horse, or his _horse_? Jason stares at the smiling man --his brother apparently-- and can't even begin to wonder what kind of mess he's gotten himself into this time.


	5. Chapter 5

While Robin seems to have survived the dragon just fine, Tim quickly finds out that his horse did not, and Tim bites back the noise of complaint he wants to make at that news. Out of respect for the genuine sadness in the man's voice when he talks of his mount. Knights are very close to their horses, they train with them and when out saving the world their mount is often their only companion. 

Having to walk to the closest village or farmhouse or whatever won't really kill Tim either. Give him blisters and possibly break his feet? Yes, but it won't kill him. The clothing he was unfortunately kidnapped in are suited for his status and light duties in the castle at home. If he'd known he was going to be taken he would have made sure to change into the clothing he wore when he wanted to wander the city. Sturdier clothing that wouldn't tear, and boots made to actually be walked in.

Robin helps to keep Tim's mind off of the growing pain by telling him stories. Some he's heard before, but does not mind hearing again given they're from Robin's unique perspective, and not the embellished versions the bards use to buy their food. Many aren't any that he's heard of though, and Tim gets lost in them. 

The knight is a riveting story teller. He doesn't use fancy words or florid prose, but paints a picture instead with his words. Relating sights, sounds, scents, and even taste so simply that Tim's mind latches onto them and he can almost feel like he is there too. Chasing an alchemist whose potion had turned him into a man sized, mindless bat, or spinning to the music of a dessert city's festival while his nose is being assaulted by the scent of exotic spices.

Robin relates his own experiences with a grin that just won't quit, using his hands to illustrate points even as he helps Tim when the pain in his feet makes him slow to climb over some of the obstacles in their path. 

He's proud when he tells stories about the Dark Knight, wryly amused when he speaks of Nightwing, and down right awed when he speaks of Batgirl. He's no less exuberant in telling their tales than he is in his own, and it's obvious to Tim that he respects and cares for the other knights of his order a lot.

Tim listens to it wistfully, his mind wandering to the knights of his own kingdom. The stoic men he grew up with giving way to the newer generation of knights. Hard eyed men who played more to the rules of politics than their own code of honor. Their titles bought for them by rich or noble parents and used as leverage instead of as they were meant to be used.

A slow and subtle change that Tim knows his mother had encouraged, liking the way the knights seemed to be taking more interest in the welfare of the kingdom than in the warfare his father avoided. It's something she very much regrets now that it's permanent and twisted far beyond her control.

"Not much further, Highness," Robin assures him as he takes most of Tim's weight and pulls him over a downed tree without waiting for Tim to try and climb it. A decision that saves Tim's pride as much as it shreds it. He's limping a little now from what promises to be a truly nasty blister on his left heel, and Robin's grimace says he knows it. "We will be at an inn soon, and then you can listen to others voices instead of mine."

"That might be unfortunate," Tim says as he leans gratefully on the arm Robin keeps out. It helps even more when they come out of the thick tree line and Tim can see the lazy smoke curling out of chimney of what looks to be a traveler's stop. "Depending on how annoying their voice might be, I think I'll stick with your tales if that would suit you, Sir Robin."

"I cannot say I mind," Robin slows to match Tim's pace as they step out onto a hard packed dirt trail. Tim doesn't have to look up from the ruts in the land to see the satisfied grin the man's wearing. He's been subjected to it almost from the beginning of meeting him. "In fact, I would even say that nothing would please me more."

Tim has gotten used to controlling the way his face tends to flame up at the slightest off comment from the knight. It's not that he's not used to the flattery. He's a prince of a kingdom that does not believe in the absolutely strict separation of nobles from commoners. He's had more than his fair share of comments aimed at him. Ranging from the complimentary to the crude, Tim is well used to simply ignoring them and continuing on as if they were not said. 

It's the _feeling_ behind Robin's words that makes Tim so flustered. The genuine nature of it that doesn't seem to be fueled by some sort of greed or wish to curry favor. Robin's flirtations are real and fueled by nothing more than an unfeigned interest in Tim.

It's been almost a year since Tim last found himself the focus of that kind of interest, and --even after all of Stephanie's work to train him out of his flustered reactions-- he's still not sure what to do with it. Despite how they did not work out as more than friends, he finds he dearly misses her presence and straight forward commentary.

"I am afraid to find out what extended exposure to me would do to that idea, Sir Robin," the settlement is even closer but Robin doesn't pick up his pace even as Tim tires to lengthen his strides. "It might very well be you who is tired of the sound of my voice before all is over with."

"Never," Robin vows immediately. Voice strong and absolutely confident in what he's saying.

"I would not be so quick to say so," Tim smiles slightly, confident in his own words as he says them. "I am not an easy man to get along with, and some of the ideas I hold are most peculiar to others. There have been many people who have grown tired of me long before they vowed they would."

Servants, tutors, scholars, his own parents. Tim was an odd child, and he admits that he's grown into an even odder man. The number of people who have been able to take him and his oddities in stride can be counted on one hand. With a digit to spare. Robin stops and Tim's forced to stop with him or risk falling on his own face.

"Prince Timothy Drake," Robin slowly bends to one knee in front of him. Taking the hand Tim has on his arm in both of his and bending his head over it. Lips brush lightly over the tips of his fingers again, before the knight tilts his head up to look him in the eye. "I swear by my own life and shield to every god who would listen, I would never tire of you, or find you peculiar in any way. The ideas you call so peculiar are not," Robin's lips quirk as he no doubt sees the flash of surprise Tim can't suppress. "Yes, your treatises are hard to follow, but I have been assured many times that your ideas are actually quite brilliant, and could revolutionize a great many things."

"I did not think people actually read those," Tim says faintly as his face burns bright red. Unable to hold back his own reaction because Robin is admitting to reading the papers Tim spends so much time researching and writing. The ones that so many of his father's own scholars have dismissed as being flawed or needlessly complicated. 

"Then you have not met Lord Kord," Robin says as he rises to his feet, taking Tim's weight again. 

"Lord Kord?" Tim repeats, suddenly dizzy because Robin can't mean Lord Ted Kord. The man whose research and break throughs Tim has grown up avidly tearing into. Begging his father for any scrap of news or rumor when he traveled.

"I will admit that a great deal of his words go over my head," Robin laughs as he guides Tim around a rut. "But rest assured he thinks highly of what you have written. I must confess that the grapple is a device the Lord has made for my order. I thought it best to save that information for later though. You have that same mad gleam that the Lord gets when he wants to take things apart."

Tim makes a noise. It's a faint, and high pitched one that he is not ashamed in the slightest to make, because he is _inches_ from an actual machine invented by Lord Kord! Tim has seen schematics and notes, but he has never been able to see an actual machine built by the man.

"Fortunately we are here!" Robin exclaims and Tim blinks. Shocked to find they're at the door to a worn but warm looking inn. Robin looks down at him and his green eyes are dancing with silent laughter. "Can you wait for me to get a room before doing irreparable damage to my gear, Highness?"

"I would _never_ ," Tim says with what little dignity he can muster, "harm such a beautiful machine, but, yes, I can wait for the room, Sir Robin."

Robin snorts as he shoulders the door open, dragging Tim into the darkened interior. Tim allows the man his doubts. Just so long as he gets to have a good look at the grapple before the night is over.


	6. Chapter 6

Jason is not someone people would call a sentimental fool. He's blunt and practical most of the time, a little charming when he wants something, and absolutely insufferable when he doesn't. Sentimentality just doesn't come naturally to him. Except for when it does, and he'll deny it to his last dying breath.

It's just hard to do when Dick is grinning as he dances out of the way of Jason's increasingly frantic attempts to gain his treasure back. His ridiculous gypsy upbringing making his leaps and spins graceful as Jason lumbers after him like a maddened bull. Eyes fixed on the glint of the torches off the gold coin Dick is squinting at. "Give it back!"

"Why?" Dick launches himself over the table in the section of dungeon that is forbidden to all but the masked knights and the royal family. The fact that they are one and the same never quite occurring to anyone no matter how often Jason walks in and Robin walks out. "What is so important about this coin to you? You have had it for as long as I have known you, and I know your purse is filled with more valuable coinage now."

"It is just a coin!" Jason snaps, too fast to be nonchalant but Dick already knows Jason values the coin. He's just being and ass about it, and, unfortunately, it's working. "It is not your business, return it to me."

"Now, now, little brother, you shoul- Hey!" Dick jolts forward suddenly and Jason takes the opportunity to throw himself over the table and tackle the man. Rolling and grappling with him only to find his hands empty. Dick kicks him off and rolls onto his back to look toward the table. "That was completely uncalled for, My Lady!"

Lady Barbara Gordon is neither a lady nor a woman given to caring for fairness. Daughter of the garrison commander she is not a born noble entitled to the moniker of Lady, but her close association to the Wayne line and her sharp tongue force people to give it to her. 

Jason gets up to his knees and feels the fight leave him as the red haired woman's face turns shrewd as she studies the coin she's now in possession of. Her dark gauntlets framing the glitter of it as she carelessly drops her helmet onto the table, lips turning up into a sly smile. "I would think taking money from your younger brother more uncalled for than a swift kick for being cruel."

"It is not merely money," Dick rolls to his feet and is out of arms reach before Jason can think to lash out to shut the man up. "It is a trinket, or, perhaps, a _favor_!"

"It is not!" Jason protests but it falls on deaf ears. Babs' smile is mischievous now, and matches Dick's too well. It's way to easy to see why there are so many rumors of secret betrothals with the two in moments like this. When they're plotting evilness together without saying a word.

"All the way from the Drake Kingdom?" Babs' asks with mock wonder as she begins to flip the coin over her knuckles. The metal clinking with her gauntlets in a way that makes him envious because he still doesn't have that much agility in his armor yet.

"Oh, the Drake Kingdom!" Dick slides onto the table and edges up behind Babs to drape his chin and arms around her from behind. "I met the rulers once, a while back. They deal with knowledge and scholars. Did you meet a pretty little student, Jay?"

"No," Jason gets to his feet and glowers at the two grinning demons he has to work with. He's not an idiot. Jason had used every bit of coin in the purse he'd been given. Buying what he needed to survive, but when it'd come down to the last coin that came from the boy he'd been unable to part with it. No matter how hungry or cold or sick he got. Jason had kept that last coin as a reminder of soft hands and softer eyes. 

Tracking its origin down had been easy enough. The Kingdom of Drake was small but not entirely unknown. Especially not in Gotham which was where their strongest allies resided. It'd been even less work to find a name to put to the boy who'd saved him. Prince Timothy Drake, the only son and child of the King and Queen. 

"It is just a reminder," Jason does not want to share this with Dick or Babs. As dearly as he has grown to love them both, there is just something about the Drake Prince that he wants to keep to himself. That he doesn't want to share. He edges closer to Babs, not buying the way she's carelessly holding the coin, but unable to not at least try.

"A reminder for what?" Dick prods. Smile teasing but not mean, and Jason debates for a minute before deciding he can share a little.

"That there are good people in the world," Jason says and is rewarded with a flash of blankness over Dick's face and the way Babs goes very still. It's not the whole truth, but it also isn't a lie and it's all he's willing to share right now.

Dick's grimacing the way he does when he fels guilty as Babs pushes away and walks out of his grasp. She hands the coin over and leans down --far less than she had to even a year ago-- to brush a kiss to his cheek. Her lips are dry and catch on the stubble he can't quite remember to shave off now that he has to do it every day. The smell of sweat and warm leather letting him know she actually had to do some hard work on her ride this day. "You would know, Jaybird."

It's enough to ease the sting of the anger he still feels for them both. Babs is really good at that.

Later that night Alfred brings him a small package before bed. In it is a chain with a clasp that fits easily around the cut out edge of the coin. Dick's own apology, or the beginning of it. Jason knows the older man well enough to know that Dick's going to be insufferable in an entirely different way for the next few days. Being more clingy and inclusive than he usually is. His instinct to cuddle out the hurt he caused going into overdrive until he's satisfied or Jason threatens to toss him into the bay. 

Whichever comes first.

Jason slips the chain over his head and thinks about the young prince he remembers falling in love with so long ago. It'd been easy when he was living out of the purses of others to think about him and dream about meeting again. Easy to imagine because it wasn't going to happen at all. A chance meeting of a thief and a prince was a once in a life time event, and not likely to ever be repeated.

What were the chances a lowly poor kid could meet a foreign prince again after all?

Jason swallows as he flops down on his bed and lets the red he's been fighting since Dick started teasing him burn through him, because he's not a thief and he's not a low anything anymore. The chances of Jason meeting Prince Timothy Drake are much higher than he's ever thought they'd be before. Especially with Bruce talking to Lord Kord about visiting the small kingdom within the year. Its reputation as a haven for scholars and knowledge enough to make Kord nearly ecstatic in his proposal to go as an envoy of the kingdom.

It's all still talk --that has made Jason worry the coin more than usual, hence Dick's interest in it-- for the far off future, but it's enough to spin Jason's head in endless circles of excitement and dread. Both emotions equally powerful as he imagines what it'd be like now to meet the prince -- _his_ Prince, Jason's mind insists still-- now that they're both equals.

Jason does not get much sleep that night, but that's nothing new to him.


	7. Chapter 7

The knight makes Tim wait to examine his gear once they reach a neat if bare room with two cots in it. There's a table with a basin and pitcher of water between the, and Robin goes straight for it. "Remove your shoes and allow me to tend your feet."

Tim cannot really object. Removing the now ruined shoes is a painful process that he has to grit his teeth through. The state of his feet is horrible. Blisters line the back of each heel, and the underside of each big toe. One on the right has burst and some blood stains the skin. Robin hisses in sympathy when he comes over with the basin filled with water. 

"I confess, I was not properly prepared for being kidnapped by a dragon," Tim notes wryly as the knight kneels down on the floor and mixes the contents of a pouch with the water. The smell is strong and medicinal, reminding him of the best apothecary shops. The ones that tend to actually deliver on what they promise.

"Few are," Robin pulls out a roll of soft bandages from a pouch and hands it to him. Tim squeezes the role when he pulls out a flask and small, sharp knife. His green eyes are apologetic when he looks back up. "I am afraid these are too large to wait out. It will be easier to heal if they are cut off, Highness."

"Do it," Tim nods sharply and then lifts his head to fix his gaze on the wall behind Robin. The man takes his right foot first and places it in the basin. The water is cool and feels wonderful for a moment until he feels a tingle spread from the softest part of his foot. It works slowly through and the pain eases enough that it feels better than wonderful. 

Tim glances down and realizes that was a mistake as Robin runs a thin stream of liquid from the flask over the knife. The scent of something alcoholic hits his nose as he looks away quickly and refuses to allow his gaze to waver again.

"The skin is already mostly dead," Robin says as he pulls Tim's foot out of the water. His touch barely noticeable. Tim can feel pressure and chooses to believe that it is Robin's fingers. "It feels nothing, but the mixture in the water deadens what little pain there would be it will also clean and prevent an infection."

Tim listens patiently and holds very still as the pressure turns very precise in a way he can't fool himself into thinking is just fingers. Robin's voice is calming and he latches onto it as a distraction.

"The best care for blisters is to bandage them and let them alone, but we have a ways to go yet that will only irritate them further. Also," Robin's voice drones on soothingly, like he's reciting things he's learned from a lesson, "it has become so irritated that blister have formed within the larger ones. I am afraid you will not care for this treatment in the morn, but it is for the best."

"I trust you know best," Tim surrenders the bandages when they are tugged, and he risks a look down as Robin begins to roll them around his foot. The skin is raw and shiny looking in a way that he knows is going to prove Robin's predictions right, but it also looks better already.

"In some minor medical matters I have been well trained," Robin says with a wry smile. He picks up Tim's other foot and Tim takes that as a cue to look away again. "His Majesty, King Wayne, demands that all his knights be able to heal as well as harm."

"Your King's policies are an inspiration among the kingdoms," even if the rumors of his excesses make Tim wonder who truly rules the kingdom of Gotham. That blessed numbness spreads through his other foot and Tim sighs in relief, even as the smell of more alcohol reaches him.

The second foot is the same as the first. Pressure but no true pain at all. Even the soft bandages are barely felt when Robin wraps them. "I will need proper boots now."

"This is a well traveled route," Robin says as he rises, basin in hand as he crosses to the window and throws the water out after looking down. "There are plenty of shops set up to cater to the needs of any traveler. I am confident there is a shoemaker as well as a cobbler here."

Tim nods gratefully and pulls his feet up to rest on the cot. The single blanket is rough under his hand. Enough to keep him warm but not so very pleasant that it would encourage stealing. He has several pouches of coin liberated from the dragon's hoard, more than enough to get the best pair of boots in the store. It's likely the shoemaker will have some ready made for emergencies. At least, Tim hopes he does.

Robin paces the room a bit. Looking it over and observing for things that Tim can only guess at before he turns to the other cot. With a few, well practiced, flicks of his hand about half of his armor slides off and he settles it at the end of the cot in a surprisingly compact bundle. Tim blinks as he sees the inside for the first time, "Is that goblin iron?"

The metal is dark, not something he'd expected at all from the brightly colored outside. Goblin iron is the strongest and most expensive metal known to man. The metal so precious that the goblins hoard the raw material, keeping the secrets of its shaping to themselves, and only part with finished pieces for a hefty sum of money. Few have worked goblin iron pieces, and those that do tend to leave the work alone. Liking to show off the dark metal so that all who see it know how very much money they spent on it.

"It is," Robin is slimmer without the bulk of his armor as he sits across from Tim. He's still armed and the mask is firmly in place, and Tim knows already it will not be coming off. "There is no armor better suited for facing a dragon. But I think I promised you leave to tear apart my gear, not my armor. Though I would not protest should you wish that as well."

The innuendo is blatant but Tim really isn't paying attention to it because Robin is offering the grapple to him. Lord Kord's work so close at hand doing what his own willpower has not been able to do all day and keeping a blush at bay. He cradles the grapple for several minutes. Eyes greedily taking each detail in as he starts to gain an understanding for its operation. Robin's words and rueful laughter are vague things in his mind now. 

"I thought this would happen," Robin says, as Tim slowly turns it over. "Please remember that we may yet need its use again before you are home, and do it no irreparable damage."

Tim makes a discontent noise as his fingers find the bolts of metal that slot into place to keep the grapple together. Expertly cut so that it will not shake free, and needs intent to be taken apart. He only wants to see how this fine piece of work is put together. Damaging it is the furthest thing from his mind as he carefully pulls it apart. Lost in his own mind.


End file.
